Ordinary
by Lestrudel S
Summary: Molly isn't what she seems- she's dangerous, mysterious and highly intelligent. That's why Jim likes her. Molliarty oneshots.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock didn't like Molly because he thought she was _ordinary; _she wasn't dangerous, she wasn't mysterious, she wasn't really hot or sexy- not that it mattered to Sherlock, really, buy it came under the danger thing. She was pretty, quiet enough, helped him with his work and was fairly intelligent, but she didn't interest him.  
That was how he viewed the _fake _Molly; the _real_ Molly had planted bombs, fought assassins, occasionally _became _an assassin when it was necessary, warded off wars, had an IQ high enough to classify her as a genius and had saved London from terrorists more times than she cared to remember. Sherlock didn't know this because he couldn't know; he had amazing powers of deduction but Molly knew how he worked and knew how to keep things hidden. That was why Jim loved her- she was the most dangerous, mysterious, sexy girl he had ever met and she definitely _wasn't _on the side of the angels, no matter how convincing her performance was. She had a good heart, yes, but she wasn't boring or girly or afraid of violence- or in her case, stopping it while using it. Jim liked her, Jim liked her a lot. And she liked him too. They were the perfect team, kind of Bonnie and Clyde, or Donovan and Anderson, or even John and Sherlock. Consulting criminal and consulting super spy- you can see how that could work.  
They had been together for a while- they lived together, worked together, slept together, were _always _together. And he liked it that way.


	2. Chapter 2

Another attack prevented. No one would ever know, except Jim. Molly trusted him with everything, even though most people would call him untrustworthy.  
She came home to their flat on the outskirts of London to find an Indian takeaway on the table, with a note saying _for you xxx P.S. out on a job, don't wait up_.

What would it be? Murder? Sabotage? Terrorism? If she wasn't preventing things like this from happening, she was helping him _make _them happen.  
Molly sighed, picking up the Indian. Lamb tikka, her favourite. Not exactly romantic, but it was something.


	3. Chapter 3

"Um...Richard Brooke?"

"It's my civilian name. I'm the story teller."

"It's pretty convincing."

"Not convincing enough. Can you help me with this?"

"What do you need?"

"Fake ID, papers etc."

"Only if I'll get to see some action."

Jim smiled at her. "D'you really think I would keep the good stuff for myself and have you do the paperwork?"

"No." she said, smiling back. They kissed- he was a good kisser, for someone society viewed as evil.

"I might need you to kill someone."

"Like that's a problem."


	4. Chapter 4

Molly saved the Chinese ambassador's life- she took a bullet for him. Luckily, she was wearing a bullet proof vest, but she would have anyway. It was her job; she was bound to it by contract. Consulting spy- ask her and she'll do it. Usually she was used for good- she had the odd customer who used her to spy for information to use in blackmail. She didn't like it because she had strong morals, but the money was generally better. _A lot _better. Jim liked to use her some times, but she didn't get him to pay her. Being evil was fun, on occasion, so she didn't mind doing it for free.

Jim was completely enthralled by her double life; by day a forensic scientist who was timid and shy- by night, or her days off, she was a bold, outgoing contracting spy. She was useful when he was doing a job; for brains, for muscle, for a distraction, either for him or for others, although she complained loudly and threatened to make him pay for her services like any other customer. She didn't follow through with her threat, obviously; they were boyfriend and girlfriend. He loved her, in his own way, and she loved him.


	5. Chapter 5

Molly had been given her biggest pay cheque yet- half a million pounds. All she had to do was kill the Prime Minister's adversary. She wondered, briefly, how many people knew how corrupt or how in danger England was, but it wasn't her concern. She did what she was paid to do; whether it was spy, bodyguard, watch or even kill. It didn't matter to her so much because it was always interesting and she had long since eradicated the feeling of guilt when she assassinated someone; if she didn't kill them, then her employers would kill her. It was just how it worked.

With the money, she and Jim moved to a luxury flat in the center of London. At first she worried about whether it would be safe for Jim, with all the people who wanted to kill him, but what could be better than hiding in plain sight? Besides, he had her to protect him.


	6. Chapter 6

"Molly, I'm sorry-"

"You slept with someone else!"

"_Richard Brooke _slept with someone else. Moriarty's yours, Molly."

"_You are Richard Brooke_. Same body!"

"Molly, I _had _to."

"No you didn't!"

"Yes, I did! I have to seem like a completely different person. If it's any consolation, you're much better than her."

"That's not the point, Jim!"

"Molly, I'm sorry." he said, kissing her. She just couldn't stay angry with him.

"You're a psychopath, you know that?"

"I know that."


	7. Chapter 7

Molly knew that Jim was out to destroy Sherlock, but she didn't stop him because there _was no stopping him_. She didn't _help _him though, which Jim found odd, not realizing that they were friends though she had stopped having feelings towards him. The only time when Molly wouldn't help Jim was when he had kidnapped someone; the way he treated the people he had abducted because of his employer's wishes was...distasteful at best. He didn't like it himself, to be honest, but he was a consulting criminal. He was consulted, and he did what his customer wanted. But his customer wasn't Molly's customer, and it was well within her rights to refuse them something. It just felt wrong to Jim when Molly refused _him_ something. But then he was a sociopath-psychopath, so friendship and loyalty didn't quite comprehend.


	8. Chapter 8

"You're wearing lipstick. You weren't wearing lipstick before."

Molly sighed inwardly. Sherlock obviously assumed she had put on lipstick for him- in actual fact, she had done a video chat with Jim while she was in the bathroom. He 'liked to see her face'. She had put the lipstick on before and and forgotten to take it off. Though, she supposed, it kept up her image of being attracted to Sherlock. She wasn't anymore, but she could see why she used to be; the cheekbones, set dangerously high in his pale face, his curly hair that Harry Styles could only dream of, his scarf, his coat...it had been a passing affection, and it had, well, passed. Besides, Jim was much more attractive when he tried to be. Sherlock had been interesting to start with, and mysterious, but _she _had got bored of _him_. The consulting detective really did pale in comparison to the consulting criminal.


	9. Chapter 9

"The painting's quite obviously a fake." Molly felt like saying to Sherlock. She had worked it out before him. But telling his this would be altering the game; the winner couldn't be pushed into winning, he had to win by himself. There was no reason for this game other than Jim liked to play with Sherlock and Sherlock was bored so he let himself be played with.  
So instead she pretended to be in awe of his _amazing _deductive powers; they were no better than Jim's, or even her's, really. Mycroft's were pretty good, too. Sherlock just didn't realize that he wasn't the only person in the world with deductive reasoning.


	10. Chapter 10

Molly and Jim went for dinner at a really beautiful restaurant; God only knows how much this cost him, Molly thought as she ate, aware that her boyfriend had money but wasn't exactly a millionaire. He was wearing her favorite suit- cream, with a white shirt and a red tie. She ordered some kind of soup- whatever it was, it was delicious -and had a raspberry cheesecake for desert. She loved it, and expected to leave shortly after she finished the delicious fruit pudding, but Jim had a surprise planned for her.

The band playing at the front of the restaurant stopped mid-song, the pianist's fingers frozen in the air. Jim smiled at Molly, took her hand, and led her to the front of the restaurant, a meter from the stage. The whole restaurant was silent.

"Molly Hooper," Jim began "you're my beautiful partner; in crime, in love, and I couldn't bear to see you with anyone else." he continued, taking a plush box out of his breast pocket and lowering to one knee. He opened the box, revealing a silver ring adorned with a glistening emerald. "So will you do me the honor of becoming my partner in life?"

Molly didn't even have to think about it; she just smiled and nodded. Jim grinned back at her, and they kissed, to the applause of the restaurant, and the band started playing her favorite song. And it truly was the happiest moment of her life.


	11. Chapter 11

"Sherlock, this is Jim from IT."

"Gay." he said. Molly acted surprised. He then went through his analytic reasoning, showing off. Molly pretended to be angry, but it was the plan. To see how easily Sherlock could be fooled. The only thing Molly would do for Jim in regards to the game he was playing with Sherlock. A preliminary test for what was to come. It was a game of chess; Jim was the black King, Sherlock the white. Molly was Jim's Queen- very influential, although, opposite to an ordinary game of chess, rarely used. The other pieces were Jim's web, useful but expendable. Molly would become just another piece, too, if she allowed herself to be used. So she didn't. And besides, a wife is far less expendable than a girlfriend.


	12. Chapter 12

"Are you ready?" asked Molly as she placed the union jack cap on Jim's head.

"_Born _ready." he said, grinning. He was about to steal the crown jewels. Well, he said _steal_- he was going to try them on, really, that's it. But it would be fun_._ This was the crime of the century. This was _exciting_.

Molly watched the grin spread wider on her fiance's face. He was probably thinking of his elaborate plan- a binary code passed off as the key to any door in the world, a diamond in a piece of gum that would smash the bulletproof glass protecting the crown, _wearing _the crown...

Molly secretly wished she was helping in this somehow, but it would interfere with the game. She would be held trial with Jim, because, of course, Jim would be arrested, and then Sherlock would deduce the details of her secret life. He would deduce that she _had _a secret life. It was an elaborate plan that she just couldn't be part of...  
She sighed, and wished she didn't have to keep half of her life a secret.


	13. Chapter 13

"I think I'm going to die."

_I know you're going to die..._

Molly didn't say anything. Helping Sherlock fake his death would be sabotage. If she was going to help anyone, it would be Jim. why was she compelled to let Sherlock live?

"You're right. You _are _going to die, unless you let me help you and acknowledge that I'm not a complete idiot. _You're _the idiot. I've lived a double life for almost five years and you didn't even notice. The great Sherlock Holmes. Not so great, really, are we?"


	14. Chapter 14

"That's...impossible. Unforeseeable..."

"Yes, that's right. You couldn't deduce that I had a whole other life. I'm not quite as dull, boring and predictable as you thought, right?"

"You never have been."

"I've never mattered."

"You've always mattered."

Molly smirked at the consulting detective. "I could deduce your whole life story, like you've done with thousands of people, including me. Remember Christmas?"

"I really am sorry..."

"That present was from Irene Adler. Red wrapping, the brain's synonym for danger, black rope instead of lace of ribbon, most _definitely _her style, neatly wrapped by someone with small, slender fingers, most likely a woman, but not _a _woman, _the _woman."

Sherlock gazed at her with tears in his eyes.

"Not so nice to be on the receiving end, is it?" she said softly, smiling mockingly at him. "I will help you fake your death. But when you come back, you have to be _better_. For John, for Lestrade, for Mrs. Hudson, for _me_. Do you understand?"

He nodded.

"Moriarty is playing a game with you. It's chess. But what people forget is that the Queen is more influential than the King. You and him are Kings, and I am Jim's queen."

"You...you're working with Moriarty?!"

She smiled. He really hadn't figured it out? "We're getting married."

"How did I miss...what...?"

"You're invited to the wedding, of course. I mean, it would have been a lot more fun if you had worked it out and gatecrashed, but obviously that's asking too much."

"You can't marry him."

"Can and will. I'm going to save your life, Sherlock Holmes. You could at least be nice to me."


	15. Chapter 15

Jim lay dying on the roof of St. Bart's hospital. His last fleeting thought was of Molly; that they never married, that he would never see her again, that she didn't know he was dying, that he didn't tell her he was going to die. But she would find out...


	16. Chapter 16

"It worked, then." Molly said as she walked through to her living room, barely looking at the man sat on her sofa.

"Obviously." she gave him a sharp look. "Sorry. I still forget to...to be nice."

"Well, just remember that I quite literally saved your life."

"I know...thank you...?"

Molly nodded, smiling. "You're starting to get the idea."

Sherlock tried to smile genuinely back- it looked like his usual smirk with a touch of trying-to-be-nice. Molly raised an eyebrow. He opened his mouth; it was starting to look like a grimace. "Do I...do I look okay?"

"The smile...needs some work."

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's really more of a smirk...if you open your mouth it's a grimace. Keep it shut; it looks marginally better."

"Is it...attractive?"

She looked at him quizzically. "Smile more...gently. Smirking looks sexier but...sexy doesn't suit you so...you do realize that I'm engaged? Talking of that, Jim will be back soon. You need to go in the next half hour."

The little expression on Sherlock's face fell. Molly didn't know. He didn't want to tell her. He wouldn't if it was anyone else, being a sociopath, but...she owed her it at the very least.

"Molly...Jim isn't coming back."


	17. Chapter 17

There was no funeral for Jim; if the body was found, Molly wasn't told, because she had had to keep her connection to him a secret. Molly cried a lot, and Sherlock was there for her, to a certain extent. He hadn't quite grasped how to handle his own emotions, never mind other people's.  
The plan had been for Sherlock to hide for three years, making no contact with Molly or anyone else. But the plan had changed; because there was no Jim, Sherlock was living in Molly's flat. He could never leave, in case he was found, but it was something. And Molly needed him as much as he needed her. She couldn't be alone- she needed a friend, even if Sherlock claimed not to _have _friends.


	18. Chapter 18

Molly missed Jim. And everything about him. His cheeky smile, his charm, him mystery. Sherlock was nice, but he was consulting detective nice, and although she definitely thought he was more attracted to her than he had been previously and he was the closest thing to Jim there was, her fiance was dead. She really wasn't ready for a relationship.  
Molly taught Sherlock how to be normal; showed him how to cook, clean, be nice, smile rather than smirk. He was still amazingly astute and there were no negative affects on his deductive skills, he was just becoming more...normal. Not ordinary, just...closer to tolerable.  
She had told him that social skills help you get what you want, if anything, so he agreed to let her help him. It wasn't like Sherlock would ever stop being a sociopath, because he just wouldn't be Sherlock, but he owed it to the people around him, the people who had done so much for him, to change his behavior slightly, if only for them.


	19. Chapter 19

"Where are you going?"

"Out. I've got a job to do."

"I thought you didn't work graveyard shifts at the mortuary."

"I don't."

"Oh...right. Secret life and everything...what exactly do you do?"

"I'm a spy on a consulting basis, basically."

A grin spread across Sherlock's face. "Consulting detective, consulting criminal...consulting spy."

Molly nodded, opening the door.

"Wait! Let me come with you."

"Why?"

"I'm bored. And I can help you."

"You really can't."

"I can!"

"I have to go snooping around an old church and a graveyard for stuff to tell the French government. You wouldn't know what I was looking for and I couldn't tell you, so you would be a hindrance."

"Please, Molly."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'll send you a text if I need you."


	20. Chapter 20

Sherlock had found nicotine patches in a recess of Molly's house, when she was out on a job, and although she was frustrated that he had been looking through her personal possessions she agreed to let him use them. She wouldn't tell him why she had them- it helped her to think and sort the various intelligence she had obtained into categories as she couldn't write any of it down, obviously -because she had copied the technique from the consulting detective. Molly should have known it was futile to keep any secrets from her flatmate because he could deduce the details of the secret in a matter of seconds, although he had learned not to say anything when he did it to her. He still did it, of course. If he stopped, he would loose his powers of deduction altogether. He still didn't know how he missed the fact that she had a whole other life, and that the awkward, quiet Molly he thought he knew was a complete facade, but he could work out _some _details of her various jobs- the approximate location, some details of her employers. Molly didn't like it because he already knew more about her and her secret life than he should, bu she supposed it was her fault for letting him into it. The only other person she had ever let in was Jim.


	21. Chapter 21

Sherlock hadn't left Molly's flat in three months. He was constantly bored, and becoming an insomniac because of the cabin fever. Molly refused to let him leave. If he was seen, that was it. Game over. John, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and probably Molly too would be killed. So he _couldn't _leave, not yet. Molly was still tracking down the spies who had been working for Jim. She felt like she was betraying him at first, but then she realized he would be beaming up at her from Hell, and appreciating the new level of complexity added to her life. He would still love her as much as she loved him.


	22. Chapter 22

"Morning, Molly."

"Sherlock, go away, I'm sleeping."

"I made you coffee."

"I don't care."

"And pancakes."

Molly's eyes fluttered open to see Sherlock standing over her with a mug of coffee in one hand and a plate of _something _in the other.

"Well, you tried."

"You're welcome."

She sighed. "I'll have the coffee, but not the pancakes."

"Why not?"

"There's a possibility I could get food poisoning from them."

"It's statistically impossible to get food poisoning from pancakes."

"I've never trusted statistics."

Sherlock frowned. There was nothing wrong with the pancakes- they were a bit burnt around, well, everywhere, and they weren't really pancake _shaped_, but they were edible. Molly was coming to the same conclusion, and took the plate out of his hand.

"What's this for, anyway?"

"It's your birthday!"

"Oh, yeah..." Molly had forgotten her own birthday. She had _tried _to forget, really, because she and Jim had made plans, and it was painful to think they would never happen.

"I would have gotten you a present, but...well, that's impossible at the minute."

Molly nodded. It was a nice gesture, she supposed, but she had a feeling there was an ulterior motive behind it.

"Please, Molly. Let me help you with a job. I can't stand sitting in here all the time."

She sighed. Maybe it would be best. Besides, he might be useful. "I'll find some way for you to help me, okay? Just promise that you'll never make me pancakes again."


	23. Chapter 23

"You...you got my violin?"

"From John. He misses you."

"I knew he would. I wish...I wish I could tell him that I'm alive." the consulting detective said sorrowfully as he opened the case, picking up his beautiful, expensive violin and admiring it as though he had never seen it in his life. He had missed it in the year he had spent living with Molly. A grin tugged at her lips, despite what he had just said, happy that she could give him something to relieve his boredom besides occasionally helping her with her jobs. He placed the bow on the strings, quietly playing the first movement of a violin concerto he had known since he was four. He had learned to play Mozart and Bach instead of twinkle twinkle little star. He smiled gently, remembering the look on his teacher's face when he came back to his second lesson playing Grade 8 violin. He had always been a fast learner...

Molly listened as he played; it sounded beautiful, perfectly in tune, each note sounding either sweet or sorrowful depending on the intention, and realized, to her amazement, that she was falling back in love with the nuisance in her flat.


	24. Chapter 24

Exactly one year, one month and six days had passed since Sherlock's 'death', not that he had been keeping count. It was a futile exercise, anyway, because there was no set date for the consulting detective to resume his life as best he could, it all depended on when Molly tracked down Jim's spies. And as you would imagine that wasn't an easy task for anyone, even Molly Hooper, who was an expert in that kind of work as well as being Jim's ex-fiancee.

"How many are dead?" Sherlock asked Molly.

"Three. Seven to go."

Sherlock suppressed a sigh. "And there's absolutely no way I can help?"

"Without getting yourself and everyone else killed? No." Molly had explained it to him several times. She almost wished he _could _help, because it was difficult to juggle work at Bart's, real work and tracking down Russian spies. But he couldn't, and it was really that simple.


	25. Chapter 25

Another assassin dead. Another successful venture for the not so kind, not so sweet Molly Hooper, who, by the way, hated her name. It wasn't dangerous or mysterious in the least, to be honest, but it suited the fake her down to the ground.

"Four down, six to go."

"Nearly half way there; soon I'll be able to leave and stop being such a hindrance."

"You're not a hindrance."

"You said I was."

"Yeah, a year ago."

"So I'm not a hindrance now?"

"Well...you're like a pet."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "A pet."

"Yeah, you know, cute, nice to have around, slightly annoying, demanding."

"Cute? _Really_, Molly, cute? Sherlock Holmes?"

"Oh, yeah, well..."

"Unless you meant cute as in...attractive?"

"No!"

"You might have once."

"Not any more." she lied defensively.

"Don't lie to me, Molly. Just because Jim's dead doesn't mean-"

"I told you _never _to mention Jim's death."

"Yes, I know...I'm sorry."

Sherlock looked at Molly; he was genuinely sorry, and he could see that she was genuinely upset. He couldn't explain or prove to her that he was truly sorry with words, so he would have to show her. Show her that he cared, that she mattered, that he always had and always would trust her...he took her face in his hands and kissed her, on the lips. She pulled away, looking both happy and sad, elated and aggravated.

"Sherlock, I can't...I'm not ready. I'm sorry."

"You still love Jim. I understand...understand that you always will. But you can't put your life on hold for the sake of his memory."

"I...oh Sherlock, you..." she tried to say, but he kissed her again, and this time, she kissed him back.


	26. Chapter 26

Sherlock wasn't used to the feeling of being in love. He wasn't used to being loved and he wasn't used to loving others. He didn't know if he loved Molly, to be completely, utterly honest. She loved him, to the extent that she could, because she still loved Jim as much as she had when he was alive. Because Sherlock was a confirmed sociopath he was used to casual relationships with the people who could take his constant insults and were of some use to him. And while Molly was useful, she didn't take his insults well, whether they were indirect or purposeful, so that was one glitch in their not-quite-relationship. They had kissed several times; sometimes it lead to more, sometimes it didn't. They couldn't do anything couple-y because Sherlock couldn't leave their flat, and he wasn't a romantic or even friendly person anyway. Molly was too busy living a double life to spare the time to improve their relationship. Sometimes they were boyfriend and girlfriend, sometimes they were friends, sometimes they were only flatmates. It largely depended on their moods.


	27. Chapter 27

Molly was seriously pissed off. Was Sherlock _trying _to be a complete pain? She hadn't minded so much when he blew up the cooker, or 'accidentally' shot a hole in the wall, but walking in on her when she was in the shower? You just didn't do that to a girl, never mind a girl like Molly Hooper. She plotted revenge for about half an hour, and then scrapped the plan, deciding to hide his nicotine patches and incinerate his petri dishes while he was asleep. He didn't usually sleep of course- she had drugged his tea. Oh, what fun they had, living together. Best friends for life. Or girlfriend and boyfriend. Or flatmates. It depended on which day of the week it was, really.


	28. Chapter 28

Christmas came to Molly and Sherlock a year and a half after the event everyone liked to call the Fall. They had more or less forgotten all about the holiday; Molly was distracted by her work, and it was irrelevant to Sherlock. He couldn't care less for festivities and the like. He felt miserable, actually; it just made him miss John and everyone else even more. He was thankful that he had Molly- without her, he probably wouldn't even have a home, never mind someone who cared about him.


	29. Chapter 29

**_A/N: Hey :3 just wanted to say thanks for all the positive feedback, be it reviews, follows, favorites or just reading my work. It's great :D Also, I don't plan on ending this series any time soon. I love writing this and people like to read it, so why stop? :)_**

The biggest mistake Sherlock made in his entire life was reading John's blog. In a year and seven months, his best friend had become a wreck, a hollow shell. And it was all his fault, no matter how hard Molly tried to persuade him otherwise. Guilt was one of the few emotions Sherlock felt, and he was feeling it at that point in time. _Really _feeling it.

_Monday, 29th January_

_ I miss Sherlock, and everything about him; his obscene need to shoot a wall when he was bored, the severed heads in the fridge when all I really wanted was milk, his regular 4 AM violin concerts, the cases, his deductions, even his smirk. Why did he have to do it? Why did he have to leave me?_

_Tuesday, 30th January_

_ I hate Sherlock. It was easy for him. All he had to do was jump; the next minute he was dead. He didn't have to see his best friend lying dead on the pavement. He didn't have to bury the person who had brought another dimension to his life. He didn't have to live without the person he had trusted and cared for the most. He's dead. I'll never see him again. And I hate him for it._

The blog went on in a similar fashion; Molly forced him from the laptop when he broke into a wild sob. It was terrible, to see someone usually so cold and indifferent completely break down.


	30. Chapter 30

Molly was shot in the back, once, chasing one of Jim's spies, which was kind of ironic, because the bulletproof vest she had been wearing was a gift from the consulting criminal himself. The spy hadn't been wearing any kind of ballistic protection, unfortunately for him. O seeing his dead she felt an initial pang of remorse, but it was business. It was a personal vendetta too, kind of, but it was still business. That was just how it worked. Besides, it wasn't like he had a family. Jim's best spies were untraceable, unmarried, usually orphaned. And the spies she was tracking _were _his best.  
The accomplice, the one who actually shot her in the back, got away. She had no need to kill him, and it wasn't like he was going to tell anyone what had happened to his friend. He was one of _Jim's _spies; they were still loyal to Molly, even if her motives were unclear, even if what she did seemed radical and uncalled for. It wasn't, but that must have been how it looked.


	31. Chapter 31

Sherlock briefly wondered when he had last eaten, estimating it at about three days ago. It had been three days since Molly left on a job, so his guess must have been about right. He didn't eat unless she forced him to, or his stomach made noises that worried even him. That usually happened at the ten day mark.  
He wondered if John was still eating properly. Probably not. He wondered if John had a girlfriend yet. Probably. It would be odd if he didn't. Sherlock would have a girlfriend but John wouldn't...  
That was a sure sing that the consulting detective was bored out of his mind. His thoughts were turning trivial.


	32. Chapter 32

Nobody knew that Sherlock was living in Molly's flat, obviously. So when someone broke into her flat, assuming it was empty, the burglar/spy/assassin was shocked to find Sherlock lying on the sofa in his bathrobe.

"Get out of my girlfriend's flat," he said, without even looking at the other man, "or I swear to god I will kill you."

"I-I have a gun!"

"Get out, please. You're embarrassing yourself."

"_I_'ll kill _you_!"

"No, no you won't."

"I will!"

"Get out, before I make you."

"I-I'd like to see you try!"

* * *

Molly put her key in the door and pushed it open slowly. She walked through to her living room, taking off her coat, to find a man lying unconscious on the floor, Sherlock on the sofa where she left him. She sighed.

"What happened?"

"He broke in."

"No, I mean what happened to _him_."

"Oh. Well, I asked him to leave, and he wouldn't, unfortunately for him."

"What did you do to him?"

"Not much. He'll be up and running- probably _away_ -in a couple of hours. There shouldn't be any permanent damage."

"_Right..." _


	33. Chapter 33

Six spies dead. Four to go. Molly pondered on the fact that she was so deft at killing as she walked to work at the mortuary, wondering how on earth that had happened. She smiled slightly, the damp May morning air warming her skin. It had been a year and eight months since Sherlock had 'died'. Without him she couldn't have coped with Jim's death. Without Molly, Sherlock would be dead, either through suicide or assassination at some point. They all would be.


	34. Chapter 34

Molly came home one day to find Sherlock sitting on the sofa, ignoring the second degree burns on his hands that he got from one of his experiments gone wrong. Apparently he had learned to block out the pain, which was scary to say the least.

"Sherlock, you can't just ignore things like this!"

"Why? It's much more efficient."

"There could be something seriously wrong with you and you wouldn't even know it!"

"If I didn't know, it wouldn't matter."

Molly scowled, applying burn cream to Sherlock's red, blistered skin. He winced. "You can feel that, then."

"That's different."

"No, no it's not. Right, that's done. _Leave _it, I don't care if it stings, you can 'block out the pain'."

Sherlock smiled at her weakly.

"Yeah, that smile's definitely getting better."


	35. Chapter 35

"Two years, to the minute. How many are dead now?"

"Six. Seven, soon."

"Oh?"

"I've got plans."

"Can you be more specific?"

"Not really."

"It's been a while since you managed to kill anyone. Have you had trouble tracking him down?"

"Firstly, I've been going mad at the mortuary, I've got a lot more work than usual, and I've been hired three times in the past two months. I'm a busy woman. Secondly, he's a she."

"Oh. Interesting."

"Is it?"

"Yes. From what I can gather, Jim wasn't in the habit of hiring female spies."

"It wasn't purposeful."

"Hm."

"You doubt it?"

"No, I just find the statement interesting."

"Oh. Alright, whatever. Tea?"

"Please."


	36. Chapter 36

"I hate you, you know that?"

"I know everything."

"I swear to God I'm going to throw you out of this flat, _my _flat-"

"No you're not, Molly Hooper. Don't be absurd."

Molly screeched frustratedly, glaring at a smirking Sherlock, who was sitting on the once-sofa. The leather had been torn to shreds by his latest experiment- a feral cat he had tried to tame.

"I'll...I'll torch your nicotine patches."

Sherlock's eyes didn't leave the cat.

"You're banned from tea."

His smirk grew more prominent.

"I'll invite Anderson over."

The consulting detective's neck made a sickening sound as it whipped round, his head facing his girlfriend. "You will do no such thing."


	37. Chapter 37

**_This chapter is kinda short for dramatic effect...sorry xD  
Anyway, if you're feeling kind, drop me a review. It's nice to know what people think of my writing :3 ~LS_**

The four remaining spies were the big four, the top assassins who had moved across the street from Baker Street itself. That was why Molly had been perched on a roof with a sniper for almost four hours, waiting for the elusive female spy to show up. She did, just from behind. Which was rude to say the least.


	38. Chapter 38

_Are you okay? You've been gone a while. I made tea so that it would be exactly the right temperature when you got home. It's gone rather cold. SH_

_I'm fine :) x_

Sherlock stared at the texts, perplexed. There were four things wrong with what Molly had said.  
Firstly, she was always detailed. She would never just say _I'm fine_, because she knew that would only worry Sherlock more.  
Secondly, she never used smileys. _Never_.  
Thirdly, Molly never sent kisses, not unless she was in a _really _good mood or was slightly drunk.  
Lastly, she always signed her texts, without fail.

Something seriously bad was happening to Molly, and Sherlock had a sickening feeling that there was nothing he could do to help.


	39. Chapter 39

**_Helloo ^_^ sorry for the update delay; I couldn't use my laptop as the charger broke :/ but I'm back now :) ~LS_**

For some inexplicable, idiotic, sentimental reason, Sherlock had kept several numbers on his phone, which Molly had retrieved for him more than two years ago from the roof of St. Bart's. He hadn't had many contacts as he wasn't in the habit of having friends, so he soon found the number he was looking for. He hesitated for a second before clicking the name and holding the phone to his ear, clearing his throat, mentally preparing himself to speak.

"Hello, little brother. It's been rather a while, hasn't it?"

* * *

Molly scanned the small room for an exit with her eyes; there wasn't one, predictably, not one that she could actually _escape _through at least. That much was evident because of the lack of bindings.  
_Don't worry, Sherlock's coming..._

* * *

"Let's skip the pleasantries, Mycroft, neither of us enjoy them."

"Ah, so what will it be, then?"

"I...I think Molly's in trouble. It's a long story, I'll have to explain it later..."

"I'll check the CCTV around- where?"

"I don't...I don't know. Just help me, Mycroft. Please."


	40. Chapter 40

"I've managed to pick up the tracker or Molly's phone-"

"Molly's phone doesn't have a tracker, Mycroft."

"All phones do. How do you think we keep tabs on people?"

"Whatever, I don't care. Just tell me where she is."

"You're not going anywhere, little brother. Leave it to my team. Now wouldn't be a good time for you to be found out."

* * *

Molly watched a spider creep up the stone wall as she waited for Sherlock to show up. She didn't have any doubt that he was coming for her; he cared, in the limited way that he could. _You've always counted and I've always trusted you..._perhaps it had been a lie at the time, but not any more. And Molly had a sickening feeling that when the time came for Sherlock to resume his life, her own would have that little bit less meaning.

* * *

"So what am I meant to do? Sit and wait?"

"Sit and _orchestrate_, little brother. I do believe that you know Molly Hooper better than any man alive; you know how she will react when she knows she will be rescued."

"She'll fight her way out with the team, so don't bother sending bodyguards, she's at least twice as capable as your best man. Oh, and she may attempt- and succeed -to kill a spy while she's there, but I'm sure that won't be a problem."

"Not at all."


	41. Chapter 41

Mycroft felt that his brother had changed more in two years that in his whole life; who was this lovestruck, caring man? What had happened to the genius sociopath that had given him- dare he say -_feelings_? And more importantly, why?

But there were more important things to think about, such as saving Molly Hooper, and the rule the elder Holmes lived by was that caring is not an advantage. Why Sherlock had broken that rule he couldn't quite fathom, but he would have to learn to live with it. Ugh, _feelings_.

* * *

Molly and Sherlock were both extremely intelligent people. Although they loved to take risks and live life on the edge, they knew that they couldn't be too careful. So Molly sat in the dark, listening to her phone vibrate from across the room. The spy had been careless, leaving Molly's phone meters away from her. Perhaps it was to taunt her. Nevertheless she should have known better.

Buzz, pause, buzz. _I'm coming._

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz. _Five minutes._

Buzz buzz, long pause. _Bringing a squad team_.

Buzz. _Be ready_.


	42. Chapter 42

Sherlock watched the squad team breaking down the iron door and entering before following them, climbing over the heady, soundproof door. He looked at his phone, picking up the signal from Molly's. Oh, how she was clever. Brilliant. Fantastic. Of _course _all phones had trackers. Molly knew that, and she somehow had adapted her phone to have it switch the tracker on and off as she pleased.

But Sherlock, was an idiot. How could Molly have activated the tracker? He didn't realize it until it was too late, though, of course. That's always what happens when you let emotions get in your way.

_I should have stayed at home..._


	43. Chapter 43

Sherlock's hair was in a sticky clump at the back of his head when he woke, Molly next to him on the cold concrete floor. Silence spread through out the building. Where were Mycroft's people, he wondered? Dead, most likely, which wasn't great.

As the consulting detective scanned the room with his keen, trained eyes, the door opened, revealing a streak of blinding light, a figure emerging with a torch in one hand and a blade in the other.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes. It truly is a pleasure to meet you."


End file.
